


The Power of First Impressions

by dracaenamarginata



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Will, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Fucking Romantic as Shit, Hannigram - Freeform, Impregnation, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Verse, Omega!Hannibal, Shameless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:45:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracaenamarginata/pseuds/dracaenamarginata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written while drunk (and horny).</p><p>Proofread while horny (and drunk).</p><p>Enjoy!</p><p>-New chapter is #6-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...his expression betraying an ocean of gratitude with an undercurrent of yearning.

“Red or white?”

 

'I think something pink, don't you?”

 

 

_Seven-thirty. Friday evening. Baltimore._

 

“Good evening, Will. Please come in.”

  
“Oh, you've been drinking.”

  
“I had a glass of wine with my last appointment, yes.”

  
“Drinking with a patient?”

  
“She was drinking with a patient. I have an unconventional psychiatrist.”

  
“Well, we have that in common.”

 

"On that note, are you my patient or are we simply having conversations?"

 

"I think… yes would be the answer to that."

 

Will's mind was clouding over with a singularity that had seemed to manifest from thin air. He didn't know exactly why he had come and didn't have the slightest idea what he was going to talk about. That is, until he saw Hannibal smiling at him through the open doorway between his office and waiting room. It was the same feeling in his stomach when he saw a stray dog trotting along the side of a two-lane highway, only much stronger and uncomfortably mixed with arousal. 

 

Will's eyes were darting around the office even more skittishly than usual and his face exhibited a slight flush.

 

"In retrospect I have found undefined relationships to be... some of the most rewarding. It allows for the most truthful declaration of needs and the freedom to meet those needs. The reason I chose an alpha therapist- she is less likely to allow herself to be limited by social constraints." 

Not as subtle as Hannibal would have liked to broach the subject, but nonetheless effective.

 

"No one would say that about me- that I'm unconstrained. At least not as an endorsement. Making waves doesn't look good on a beta." 

He wanted Hannibal to be the one to say it aloud, that is, if he knew. He wanted to see Hannibal's lips form the word. It worked. 

 

"But you're not a beta, you're an alpha." He said it with a slight glimmer in his eye.

 

"Would you mind telling everyone on my behalf?" 

 

Hannibal smiled. 

 

"Everything about me seems to say 'beta.' The way I look, dress, live, what I do. By the time anyone gets close enough to scent me they've already decided who I am and commenced judging my actions according to their... _ridiculous_ notions of what I should be- just 'happy to be helpful, reliable and comply-able.' I'm tempted to start wearing a shirt that says 'smell me, already.'' 

 

Hannibal chuckles, the glint still in his eyes. 

 

"Empathy can require tremendous strength. You can take pride in what you do, as someone who saves lives that might otherwise go unsaved. You are a leader, Will, in every sense of the word." 

 

Will suddenly finds himself at ease and makes eye contact for the first time since stepping into Hannibal's office this evening, his expression betraying an ocean of gratitude with an undercurrent of yearning. 

 

"Thank you… for seeing me." 

 

For all the talk from Jack of obligations and responsibilities, Will had never heard what should have been said when the cases were closed. He felt anger rise in him that he had not felt before, at least not consciously. He gave parts of himself to this work and was entitled to something more than a paycheck in return. Not just support, but respect.

 

"It must be nice working for yourself." 

A tinge of bitterness in those words. Will regretted them immediately.

 

"It is. Although one cannot simply decide to become a physician. I had support from my admissions department to enter medical school, as an exception to the rule." 

 

"No omegas." 

Will acknowledged the shameful old dogma with more than a little regret of his own. Alpha guilt.

 

Hannibal continued, unperturbed. 

"Entrance exam standards were higher for me, as were the grades I was required to maintain. Exceptional aptitude to outweigh exceptional 'emotional lability.' 

I was lucky to find one hospital willing to grant me a chance to prove my skill as a surgeon. 

Omegas gave double internships, then twice standard time spent in residency, and... if we were lucky enough, hired at half pay. 

Patients were not offered the consideration to meet their surgeon before the administration of anesthesia. The attending physician would simply explain that we were finishing up with another patient, which was generally true. A convenient omission of our undesirability."

He let his words linger in the heavy silence, giving their gravity ample time to sink in.

 

"God. That must have really sucked." 

Will had sometimes found the most emotionally accurate responses could also be the least eloquent.

 

"Yes." 

Hannibal was smiling again. 

"It was also an opportunity to define myself through the strength of opposition. You can do the same."

"May I refresh your glass?" 

 

Will had downed the blush wine quickly and didn't deny that he may need a bit more. 

 

He normally tried to avoid situations in which he let down his inhibitions, afraid of what he might find underneath. 'Don't leave me alone with myself- I don't trust that guy.' It was his private joke with himself and a constantly-running refrain in his head, especially until coming home to his dogs each night. With them he felt less alone than with any students or colleagues or even Alana. Still alone, but manageable. 

 

Now he felt as though he had a decision to make, an opportunity for a deeper connection he wasn't sure if he wanted. The risk of revealing yourself to someone who may reject the truest parts of you. Sent home more alone than before. But at least he could give himself a _chance_ at some kind joy. He could define what he wanted for himself even if he never found someone who wanted the same things. There was integrity in that, a good night's sleep. 

 

Neither man had spoken for nearly ten minutes. Hannibal seemed to be reading the thoughts in Will's expressions and allowing him time to come to his own conclusions. Simply waiting patiently, without expectation. 

 

Now Will was refilling his own glass at Hannibal's desk and taking a seat behind it. He's about to put his feet up but stops himself. 

 

A slight warmth flashes across Hannibal's face, inside he is smiling ear to ear at the surprisingly quick transformation taking place before his eyes. 

 

Hannibal's leather-bound appointment book has been carefully left open and Will takes a glance. A single line bisects each day of the following week.

 

"Hey- vacation time!" Will shouts cheerfully. 

 

Hannibal takes the wine bottle out of Will's reach and places it on a side table, feigning annoyance, secretly grinning like the Cheshire cat. 

 

"I only wish that were true" comes the measured response, just a bit wistful. 

 

Finally Will can acknowledge to himself the finished puzzle and not just the individual pieces. Something they both had a hand in, with biology holding the bit of jigsaw cardboard at the very center. 

 

"Did you plan for me to see this?"

 

"No, but I was hoping."

 

Will didn't know whether to laugh, yell, or allow himself to be flattered. He decided on all three.

 

"Hah- oh that's rich, thinking you can just plant suggestions for my subconscious to sort out later. Whatever happened to defining _yourself_ through strength? Why didn't you just ask me out?" 

 

"You're entirely correct, I should have made an honest declaration of my intent. I'm afraid I still adhere to the demure expectations of a previous generation that offered only two paths: passivity or subterfuge. I'm truly sorry and never meant to offend, only to keep you from feeling undue obligation."

 

"I think you know full well that I wouldn't consider it an obligation."

 Now it was Will's turn to let his words linger in heavy silence before continuing on.

 

"I think on some level I've wanted this since we first met, at least missing you when you weren't around. Wanting to be near you. I didn't have anything to talk about when I came here today, or I didn't think I did. I came anyway. I don't feel that way about anyone, only you."

 

 

 

Both men are now standing in front of each other with less than twelve inches between their eyes. Will's are earnest and clear and Hannibal's are glassy with tears that seem to magically refuse to fall. Neither wanting or able to speak, reluctant to let this moment end. 

 

Finally, will reaches out to take Hannibal's hand in both of his own. Holding it as if it were the most precious thing on earth, covering it top and bottom with his own palms and rubbing tenderly, hoping the sentiment is conveyed to the entire man standing in front of him. The one he wants to protect. The one he wants to take care of. 

 

Will now holds both his friend's hands in his own, arms flanking their sides and leaning in very slowly to a first tender kiss. It lasts only a moment, but it's sublime. 

 

Hands unclasp and arms rise around their bodies, now pressed together in embrace. Hannibal breathes Will in, nestling his head against Will's neck and shoulder, Will holding him tight. 

 

Will's lips brush Hannibal's for a few more kisses, making sure to keep it gentle this early in the heat- anything more would be too aggressive. Will knows he could have sensed this even without the appointment book and finds himself at home in his empathy for the first time, learning to see himself anew through the admiring eyes of his beautiful friend. 

 

"Let me do something for you. Can I?" 

Will knelt down slowly. 

 

"Yes, Will, I trust you. Completely." 

 

Will was hugging Hannibal's waist, one ear pressed against his stomach in a way that made Hannibal yearn for something to be there as he never had before. Being understood, not defined in a textbook as a personality disorder, but truly _felt_ by another. It sparks in him a yearning to create new life. 

 

Will carefully unbuckles, unbuttons, and unzips his friend below the waist and places his arms around Hannibal's hips again, hugging him close to reestablish comfort and security, although he's not sure who needs it more. Outside of one week every eighteen months, probably himself. 

 

He nuzzles his three-quarters-ready friend with his nose, taking him into his mouth with arms at his sides. 

 

He can sense Hannibal's blinding, wet heat just beyond where his thighs touch and finds himself willing his mind's eye away from it, not wanting to distract himself from what he came here to do. 

 

Hannibal now is more fully swollen in his mouth as he licks gently from base to tip and back again, tip brushing the back of his throat each time his tongue nears the base. 

 

Will realizes that Hannibal has started to make soft noises- little exclamations of "oh" and something between a hum and a purr. He takes this as a sign of progress and speeds up just a little, gradually increasing rate and depth. 

 

Hannibal's fingers are slipping through his now sweat-damp hair, thick dark curls sliding between long elegant digits. If he were not so sure Hannibal was on the cusp of pleasure, he would have asked for a mirror just to see the lurid affair currently taking place on the crown of his head. 

 

Hannibal grips tighter and throws his own head back. 

"Aah…aah..mmmh…hmmm." 

And with that he comes deep in Will's throat. 

 

Will swallows and the contractions pulsing through his esophagus draw out Hannibal's climax. 

 

"Uh…oh…aah." 

Will knows Hannibal is likely aware of these little sounds but would prefer to think they exist only for his own ears, just for him. 

 

Hannibal carefully removes his hands from the tangle of his companion's curls and helps him to his feet. 

 

Long deft fingers quickly unbutton, unbuckle, and unzip Will, starting at his shirt's collar, where Hannibal takes another long drag, trying to pull his lover inside himself, insatiable. 

 

Will slowly removes Hannibal's suit jacket, loosens his tie, and then proceeds to gently undo each shirt button, starting at the collar, all the while never breaking eye contact. The expression in them earnest and admiring, trusting and caring. 

 

Now both fully undressed, a sensation as though they were embracing for the first time, holding fast and tight for survival, the thought of letting go an unimaginable horror. 

 

Will finally dares breathe Hannibal in deeply and finds his knees starting to give out. He waivers and Hannibal steadies him, guiding him to the very Freudian-looking couch in the center of the room. 

 

He checks Will's pulse and disappears into another room, returning quickly with mineral water and two ice-filled glasses. 

"I think we could both stand to rehydrate." 

 

Will decides to be completely honest. 

"I was unsteady from arousal." 

 

"I'll take it as a compliment." 

Hannibal decides with a tilted glance, curiosity piqued. 

"Now drink your water."

 

 

 

The Freudian couch is surprisingly plush and they've both sunk into it and into each other. Will's arm is around Hannibal's shoulders, Hannibal breathing Will in again shamelessly through languid dark curls. 

 

Will plants an affectionate kiss just below his friend's ear and decides to suffer another attack of forthrightness. He slides his arm underneath the fuzzy-but-probably-still-very-expensive blanket they both currently reside under and places his palm lightly above Hannibal's lower abdomen, simultaneously looking into his companion's eyes and seeing pupils dilate like nobody's business. 

 

"Do you want to have a child?"

 

"Yes, one."

 

"A child." Will emphasizes the 'A'

 

"A daughter. From the time I lost my sister, wanting feminine beauty to again enchant my world."

 

Will was about to remind Hannibal that he felt he wasn't exactly being given much of a choice, but changed his mind when he saw the expression in the other man's gaze. Hannibal appeared as though he had already departed for another world. And from the looks of it one far more enchanted than this one.

 

"I'm sorry about your sister. What was her name?"

 

"Mischa."

 

"I'm sure she was beautiful."

 

"She was."

 

Will holds Hannibal's hand as they respectfully fall silent, comprehending the moment. 

 

After a few minutes Will speaks.

"I honestly never thought about family- didn't have much of one to think about. No one wanted to start one with me. I would have to give it some serious thought, but I'm not saying no. Not yet."

 

"I won't take too long to answer, though." 

Will adds with a weak smile. 

 

This was the closest either could get to speaking aloud the uncomfortable truth that this could very well be one of Hannibal's last chances, if not _the_ last chance he had in his late forties to conceive. 

 

On the plus side, two thirds of 'change of life' babies were girls, just as two thirds of the 'sixteen and pregnant' set had boys. So at least he had that in his favor. 

 

'He sure doesn't _look_ like he's running out of time.' Will thought to himself, a new private joke. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...still...he does find the prospect of feral clarity intriguing.

“It is human nature to internalize unmet needs. If we find ourselves without companionship, we reason we must not be companionable. Finding ourselves in a world devoid of compassion, we reason that we ourselves are beyond redemption. Without passionate love and understanding, the implication is that we have made a decision to adjourn from humanity. 

Is it that terribly subversive to enquire of humanity: could it be you who have failed me?

We soon find ourselves falling on the coping mechanism of detachment, building a wall between these painful voids and the whole of our psyche, almost succeeding in convincing ourselves that we do not have these desires after all, removing intense emotion and value from our lives entirely rather than face the chasm of excruciating need beyond the wall.”

 

“Is this you asking me on a date?”

 

“Yes.”

 

 

The following monday evening Will found himself making the same drive from Wolf Trap to Baltimore he had been making for the past several months after beginning therapy and had long since committed to muscle memory. Nothing looked recognizable now, the unique adrenaline of anticipation making familiar places appear new and disorienting. 

 

He was nonetheless certain in his actions. While he had come to this new realization within the past twenty-four hours, he was as determined as if he had been waiting a lifetime for what was about to happen, he just didn't know it until now. Thinking back over random points of time in his life, he couldn't imagine not wanting this. Then again, it only would have caused him pain.

 

He had woken around noon after a night spent at his kitchen table with a bottle of whiskey, a pot of coffee, and a decision. He had surrendered to cliché and made a list of pros and cons, but couldn't bring himself to title it with the specific decision he would attempt to make. Should I knock up my psychiatrist? A perfectly reasonable crossroads we all find ourselves staring down at some point in our lives... 

 

'I'm not stable, but then again I've had nothing to anchor me. I'm not emotionally available, but no one has made themselves available to me (Alana). I live alone in the middle of nowhere with a dozen stray dogs. Kids love dogs.' For every strike against him he could find a caveat to at least call it into question, if not cancel it out (or perhaps it was just wishful thinking). 

 

Part of him had always been curious about family. What it must feel like to belong within something larger than himself. Something that would continue on past his own life, ever changing through generations and eons of time. He imagines a sense of deep peace and connection within his small place in the universe. He also imagines that this contentment may require more than dogs. 

 

What stops him is the pang of guilt that comes with wanting to bring someone into the world primarily for his own selfish needs, without knowing if he could give his child everything she needs. 'Is it better to bring someone into a difficult life, or spare them life altogether?' He was back at square one as he still couldn't even answer that question as it pertained to his own existence. 

 

Had he been wanted by just one person... that's all he needed. Not just cared for out of begrudging obligation. He knew his father loved him, but he always got from him the distinct impression that love was an inconvenience- carrying with it responsibilities that proved more than either of his parents could handle. 

 

Sudden clarity. He resolutely crossed out everything on his list with a thick straight line and wrote across both columns at the bottom of the page:

_I want to be your Dad._

 

 

Hello Will.

 

Hello Dr. Lecter, Hannibal.

 

Will hands him a bottle of Perrier. Hannibal smiles.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Will follows Hannibal into the kitchen. 

 

“It smells wonderful.”

 

“Crispy lemon calf liver, saffron basmati pilaf, and cloudberries with sweet purple pepper and frisee endive.” 

 

This time it actually was calf liver, a necessary sacrifice, having the advantage of being certified organic. An excellent source of heme iron and folic acid. And of course there was that quaint superstition that lemons led to the conception of the fairer sex. 

 

“How can I help?”

 

“You may set the table.”

 

Normally this would have been done well before his guest was due to arrive, but this was not entirely normal. Hannibal had found his attention continually drifting away from the task at hand in the kitchen to a temporally distant place, projecting forward in time. The sight of the Perrier bottle in Will's hand had made his heart jump, as if trying to skip ahead in it's timekeeping.

 

Will returns from the dining room.

 

“I hope your drive has seen you well.”

 

“I only came up from Wolf Trap- I'm not working this week.”

A very slight, revelrous glint flashes through Will's eyes.

 

Dinner is, as always, the the most delicious thing Will has ever tasted (well, a close second).

 

Somehow he's managed to keep the conversation light and keep himself from eating faster than Hannibal, not an easy accomplishment by any means but only fitting as the respect their current stalemate seems to merit.

 

Hannibal begins to clear their plates from the table when Will stops him.

 

“No, no let me get this.”

 

Hannibal kisses his forehead and returns to the kitchen to retrieve dessert.

 

“Warm vanilla bean custard with passionfruit sorbet and macerated green tea in suspension of simple syrup.”

Subtle flakes of gold leaf shimmer on top. 

 

Did the fruit inspire passion, or was the fruit borne of passion ...or both? 

Hannibal contemplates this as he takes his seat across from Will.

 

Under normal circumstances dessert would be savored, each small bite taken further and further apart, drawing out pleasure reluctant to let slip away. 

 

Again, these were not normal circumstances.

 

After a few largeish bites Will can no longer control his tongue, the weight of the decision he has come to and the tension of holding back it's expression having reached critical mass. A prickly hot surge of adrenaline courses through his heart to the pale surface of his being. The clicks along the track as the roller coaster ascends before the inevitable long plunge.

 

“Hannibal. Yes.”

 

Will's dinner companion sits perched on the chair opposite him, bolt upright, unmoving, at a loss for words. 

 

Will reaches across the table to take his companion's frozen hands in his own, removing a dessert spoon from the right one and a napkin from the left. Will looks into his friend's eyes to find them again full of unfalling tears. 

 

Reasoning Hannibal may not be able to withstand any more anything, Will just keeps holding his steady gaze, beckoning his friend at sea slowly back to shore.

 

Hannibal stirs slightly and blinks, a tear falling into the white linen tablecloth. He looks down at their joined hands and begins breathing more deeply. 

 

“Will, Will you do not know what this means to me.”

 

Will thinks he has some idea.

 

 

Will has an arm around Hannibal's lower back as he guides him to a chaise in the adjacent study, a small comforting space with low ceilings and old books. Will moves his arm to encircle Hannibal's shoulders as they sit, placing his free hand on his companion's thigh and stroking encouragingly.

 

“I'm in full heat. We should start tonight.”

 

“Do you want to talk first?”

 

“There will be time after.”

 

He was nothing if not resilient.

 

 

The master bedroom is beautiful, of course. Sliding double doors opening into a space that once may have been a ballet studio, occupying much of the top floor and overlooking the back yard with huge circular, paned picture windows, raw small plank wood floors, light in color, and sandstone brick walls. 

 

The large bed is on a simple grey linen platform, low to the floor, with an impossibly thick featherbed over the mattress, white sheets and a cream-covered duvet floating on top. 

 

The ceiling is the underside of the roof and shadow traces it's vaulting arch. The space is simply elegant and open, largely unoccupied by furniture or art.

 

They stand in the moonlight, taking in the moment, one lifetime before it, an entirely new one awaiting just beyond it. But not to be kept waiting.

 

Will takes his partner by the hand and invites him to his own bed. Hannibal enjoys the chivalry and pulls his partner with him into the duvet. Will laughs with the playful display. 

 

“My god this is soft.”

 

“I had a choice when I bought it. Goose down or granite. I can live with my choice.”

 

Will burst out laughing, the tension of the past few days dissipating with it. He grabs Hannibal by the shoulders and kisses him with gusto. He gets a tongue down his throat in return. 

 

“I think you might be in heat.”

 

Hannibal smiles and inhales deeply at Will's jugular, then begins to lick, taking the other man's pulse through his tongue. Will leans into it and presses the length of his body against his lover's. A shockwave of pleasure and unadulterated visceral craving radiates through Hannibal's very being and reverberates through Will as an aftershock. 

 

Will begins to weaken, feeling lightheaded again. Hannibal checks his pulse, this time with his fingers. 

 

“Will, I want you to try an exercise in focus. I will lie still, as you are now. You will do as you like, whatever may come naturally to you. You will not concern yourself with my desires. I will not communicate them to you. Allow your mind to focus through instinct- nature will guide you.” 

 

Will is skeptical even as he feels his strength returning and his mind snapping back into focus. Uneasy at the idea of setting empathy aside, or worse, not being able to. Still, he does find the prospect of feral clarity intriguing, and decides now might be a good time to give it a try. 

 

Will straddles his currently docile partner and sniffs at him from neck to chest. Seemingly pleased with the state of things, he nuzzles his nose along Hannibal's shoulder and lightly bites at his trapezius, emitting a soft growl. The entire display carries a decidedly canine quality and Hannibal smiles to himself, charmed. 

 

Will rests an arm beside either side of his mate's head and presses his lips to Hannibal's, kissing long and deep and utterly within the moment, pleasure not allowing room in his mind for a single conscious thought. 

 

Without breaking the kiss, his legs slide to part Hannibal's, nestling his hips slightly below his partner's, moving them gently in slow rhythm. Continuing the kiss, his full weight resting along the length of his lover's body, Will can sense a radiant slick warming to an almost scalding sensation. 

 

The second it becomes unbearable Hannibal is forced to break the facade. 

“Now.” 

It's a plea spoken through years upon years of deferred need. 

Desperate in it's intensity. 

Will can empathize. 

 

He enters fully in one fluid motion. He stays in place for a few minutes to give them both time to acclimate. Hannibal is again left without words as he finds himself in awe of the majesty of being enveloped from within by another living person, moving inside him, warming, a pulse to meet his own. 

 

Will doesn't seem to mind it either. He begins to move just a bit and nuzzles the sensitive spot below his friend's ear. Hannibal's calves are wrapped over his as he begins to move with increasing depth and pace. 

 

“Oh. Oh. Will. Will.” 

Reverence, nearly worship. The answer to a question once thought rhetorical. Manifest in flesh and blood. It turns Will to jelly hearing his name like that. 

 

He understands it would not overwhelm him with this intensity if the feeling were not mutual and endeavors to convey his newfound understanding, knowing he may never be able to express himself fully uninhibited outside the heights of whatever this was. 

 

He speaks softly at the ear of the beautiful creature sharing a bed with him. 

 

“I love you. I want to become a father with you. I want our child. I want you. Always.”

 

Will kisses his gorgeous creature and watches him come with a deep exhalation, pure contented peace, wrapping Will in a tight embrace as he climaxes in turn, not one ounce of strength left in his body, instantly falling into what would be more coma than sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...slamming their bodies together in ravenous hunger.

Will found himself gradually drifting back to awareness around noon for a second day, this time with a solid twelve hours behind him and leaf-speckled sunlight beaming through bay windows, alighting the tips of his eyelashes and making them look dusty. 

 

As recognition crept into the forefront of his mind a smile began to expand across his lips and through the corners of his eyes, agreeing with his yesterday self that this was indeed a good thing. He imagined that last phrase as spoken by Martha Stewart and chuckled to himself that she had been here all along, probably fully dressed and having made breakfast hours ago.

 

He showers quickly in the upstairs bathroom and uses Hannibal's toothbrush and robe, realizing he forgot to bring even an extra pair of underwear. 

'You sly devil,' he scolds his subconscious mind's presumably epic plans.

 

Downstairs in the great room he finds Hannibal reading from the National Audubon Society's bi-monthly. 

 

“Hello, Will.”

 

Will didn't think he made a sound coming downstairs and Hannibal hasn't looked up.

 

“Please help yourself to breakfast. In the warming oven.”

 

Will finds a large plate with three baked eggs in ramekins with olive oil and a very faint dusting of fine black pepper and pink sea salt. (Organic) turkey bacon and a thick belgian waffle of pure dark buckwheat and herbs rounds out the meal. Butter and a carafe of white tea sit on the center island, a pitcher of fresh orange juice in the fridge.

 

“It's delicious. You don't have to do this for me.”

 

“I would have made the same for myself alone.”

 

“Liar,” Will accuses with a teasing grin.

 

From inside the pages of his magazine Hannibal delights in the scent of Will wearing his own bath robe, resisting the almost overwhelming impulse to join him within the skin-warmed folds of tightly woven egyptian cotton. A color between eucalyptus and seafoam.

 

Will washes and dries his china and flatware and stalks his companion, resting hands on his shoulders and placing a kiss alongside his forehead from behind.

 

“I want you to know that I can be here in whatever way is comfortable for you, if you want me with you or if you want to be alone.”

 

Hannibal takes Will's hand from his shoulder and nestles it against his ear, eyes closing, voice soft.

 

“I love you.” 

 

 

They pass the daylight hours in each other's arms, Hannibal lightly dozing and Will casually flipping through a stack of books and periodicals, mostly Jung's The Red Book and fifty-year-old National Geographics. 

 

He tries to start The Elegant Universe but finds himself far too distractable on a steady endorphin high. He gives up after a few pages and returns to his National Geographics and the Korowai of New Guinea. 

 

Hannibal wakes with a small yawn that Will finds altogether disarming and very cute.

 

Dinner is pacific prawn over spinach linguine with raw red currants, enjoyed in comfortable silence to conserve energy.

 

 

They're halfway through washing the dishes (Hannibal washes and Will dries and returns them to their respective homes) when Will stares straight at his lover.

 

“You're going to to stop right here. You will leave this mess where it is.”

 

“Will I?”

 

Will slowly unties the robe he still hasn't changed out of since this morning. Opens the lapel. It slips off his shoulders, slinking to rest on the floor at his feet. His determined gaze unbroken. 

 

Hannibal feigns an attempt at the staring contest before grabbing Will by his upper arms and slamming their bodies together in ravenous hunger, biting and sucking Will's lips and tongue through their kiss, wanton waves pulsing between his hips. 

 

Still gripping fast to his friend's arm, leading him up the stairs, Will pretending to resist and laughing all the way to the top floor and through the master suite, Hannibal throwing him onto the bed and seemingly in a race with himself to undress. 

 

Will delights in this newfound abandon as Hannibal prowls over him and begins to ride him. Delicious friction. 

 

As soon as Will is close enough to ready Hannibal takes him in, nearly blacking out with the sensation of Will continuing to grow inside him. 

 

Will moans and thrusts toward the ceiling as Hannibal bites into his neck, evoking in Will a primal urge to escape that only translates into more fevered thrusting, the invigorating fear and mesmerizing desire of standing at the edge of a steep cliff and knowing you could fall to your death, reminding you that yes, you're still very much alive. 

 

Hannibal pins Will's shoulders to the mattress with straight arms and arcs back as Will comes with a silent shudder, rolled eyes only white, the sight pushing his lover over the edge in turn, exhaling deeply and collapsing their glistening bodies together. 

 

Satisfaction. 

 

For now.

 

 

By friday morning Will decides this has been both the shortest and longest week of his life, an exhausting, orgasmic, surreal whirlwind he is desperate to relinquish and desperate to continue for just one more day. 

 

Gazing at his sleeping partner in bed beside him he senses that something has changed. He doesn't wake before Hannibal. No one does.

 

His companion stirs and shifts under soft fabrics, seeking his touch. Will answers with an embrace and receives a contented moan in return. 

 

He reaches around to place a palm just below his mate's navel. Another hand covers his own.    


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...shamelessly scenting the intoxicating mix of arousal and angora.

“I'm thinking Charlotte.”

 

“Like the spider?”

 

“Yes.”

 

 Three months had come and gone since the fateful 'lost week,' as Will had taken to calling it, spending weekends with Hannibal and the rest of his days with Jack Crawford and nights at home with his dogs.

 

Convention dictated expectant parents at least move in together, but convention had little place in the lives of either men. Both seemed to require vast amounts of time spent alone and knew society's expectations would only serve to undermine what they already had. 

 

“I thought you would have wanted Mischa.”

 

“I hold no delusions of resurrection. I was blessed to have known her for the time we had together. Now I await the opportunity to welcome someone entirely new into my life. As a middle name would be nice, though.”

 

Will imagines a wall covered in kindergarten finger paintings, Charlotte Graham scrawled in orange crayon in the corners. A beautiful sight. 

 

He marks his place in The Elegant Universe, only about fifty pages in, and leaves his seat by the window to join his mate on the sofa, just another lazy sunday afternoon in each other's arms, drifting in and out of sleep but always somehow present in the moment.

 

Daylight wanes outside the great room's bay windows, overlooking the downward-sloping back yard. Autumn sunset behind leafless trees silhouetted black.

 

 

Will wakes to darkness and closes the curtain, turning fireplace logs along the far side of the room, like the soft light of a campfire burning in the distance.

 

He nestles back into the sofa to find Hannibal with eyes open. 

 

“How long have you been awake in the dark?”

 

“An hour. Admiring the view.” 

 

He considers Will's lips for a second before decidedly kissing them. The first taste only leaving him hungry for more. His lover returns the gesture carefully, as if touching a Ming vase, precious and delicate and exquisitely beautiful. The lines of his body just a bit softer, skin just a bit lighter and more humectant, reflected in Will's ever-more serene eyes. 

 

He's taken to wearing sweaters much of the time now, even in the office, wanting a softness and warmth to match the glowing warmth within. This particular one is a rosy mauve angora, fine yarn tightly knit and the long sleeves just a little extra long, partially covering his hands below the wrist. 

 

It is these hands that reach to either side of his partner's face, pulling him close into a deep resounding kiss. Will nuzzles into his neck in turn, shamelessly scenting the intoxicating mix of arousal and angora, his breath brushing against Hannibal, as if stoking flames. 

 

Will is caressing gentle encouragement along his friend's right arm, smoothing his own right hand under fuzzy softness to find even softer skin underneath, gliding fingers over breathing ribs, continuing light kisses. 

 

He brushes his touch over a nipple and gets an “ah” in return, moving in delicate circles and watching eyelids close. He lets his tongue brush against the other nipple and delights in the elicited aching moan, taking it between his lips and rolling his tongue along the tip, continuing to stroke the other as his lover's breaths deepen. 

 

“Please... please Will,” whispered from behind closed eyes. 

 

Will embarks on a path of tender kisses down his friend's delicately rounded abdomen, gliding his fingers carefully alongside. 

 

Quickly unclasping, unzipping, and uncovering, immediately taking full length into his throat. 

 

“Aah...aaah...aaaah...........mmmm.” 

It only takes thirty seconds and Hannibal is running his fingers through Will's dark curls, eyes still closed. 

 

“Thank you...that was wonderful.” 

 

“You weren't so bad yourself.”

 

Hannibal opens his eyes with a start and takes Will's hand. He quickly places it lower-left along his navel. 

 

Will stares down, then within himself, wonder slowly creeping into his eyes.

 

“Wow.”

 

It was one thing to know they were having a child. 

 

It was another thing entirely to feel it.          


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stands before the person he loves, naked, eyes earnest and clear.

Drained.

 

Driving up from Quantico to Wolf Trap, feeding the dogs, letting them out to run through the fields while he grabbed the mail and his overnight bag, leaving a note for his sixty-something neighbor lady with five twenty-dollar bills for the previous month's weekend petsitting duties, back in the car for the short trip to Baltimore.

 

Will felt as though gravity were reaching up through the soles of his feet, siphoning energy downward through his body. It had been a long week. Bookended at Dulles International. Now that the case had been 'resolved,' the full weight of fatigue could seep into his bones.

 

A wide grin fell across his face in spite of himself. He was about to come home to the only place he really wanted to be. Family.

 

 

Burnt out.

 

Shoes off. Collapsed for a brief rest on the chaise in his study. 

 

Three months ago Hannibal had given his patients three months to find an interim therapist and three referrals each, the likely best fit at the top of the list. Some may not return. 

 

He may not return anytime soon, the prospect of a stranger watching over Charlotte was truly unacceptable. He could afford a few years off, maybe see select patients on weekends.

 

Mostly he had received polite congratulations. A few gifts. 

 

When Franklyn reached out a groping hand he found the arm to which it was attached instantly and sharply pinned against itself behind his back, emitting a startled laugh and nervous apology.

 

He hadn't anticipated the overwhelming sense of relief that would come with this reprieve. 

 

At the threshold of the final trimester, he lovingly pets his swelling midsection.

“You've cleared the woods. Welcome home.”

 

 

There is no spoken greeting when they meet at Hannibal's front door. Instead Will simply takes him in his arms and kisses him deeply for a very long time. Neighbors be damned.

 

They're holding hands as Hannibal leads Will to the kitchen, Will planting another kiss on his cheek before proceeding to set the table.

 

That task accomplished, Will turns to more pressing matters as he clasps his mate's hips from behind and slides his fingers under a white chef's apron, moving them along the front of thighs with no space between their bodies, placing little kisses at his lover's neck and behind his ear. 

 

“The food.” 

Hannibal admonishes.

 

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Will pleads in hushed tones.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

 

“The food.”

 

Will eventually relents, sighing and busying himself with the important task of looking through every cupboard and drawer and through the fridge for nothing in particular. He only recognizes about half of the utensils and most condiment labels are in foreign tongues. 

 

Pickled items seem to occupy an entire shelf within the fridge- every kind of olive, caper, takuan, artichoke, and kimchi. Much of the freezer is filled with ice cream from a local organic creamery- roasted garlic, habanero buttered popcorn, purple yam with coconut meat, pandan, cinnamon toffee pecan, chocolate liqueur-coated mealworm agave...

 

“Is this worm stuff any good?”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Nevermind, just admiring your many ice creams.”

 

For someone diving headfirst into the deep end of a stereotype, he certainly did it with style.

 

And for all the talk of food, Will doesn't exactly remember what dinner was- maybe duck and some kind of sprouted vegetable? Impossible to focus. Wanting only to reach across the table and caress coppery blonde locks, brush them from downward eyes... make them look up... make _him_ lose control...

 

“Will.”

 

“Will.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“We have plenty of time.” 

 

“That's not enough.”

 

“Then I'll buy you some. I vomited again this morning.”

 

“God, you look great in the morning.”

 

The auburn eyes looked up with equal parts annoyance and concern.

 

 

Will feverishly clears the table, stacking napkin on napkin on silver on plate on plate and, grabbing both water glasses in his free hand, darts off to the kitchen sink and back. If his mate ever blinked, he wouldn't have been missed.

 

“Whatever you want, umh, no pressure, if you just want to sit by the fire... read... foot rub?”

 

Hannibal can't help but laugh at that last suggestion. He takes Will patiently by the arm and leads him up the stairs to the second floor hallway, all the way to the end where it opens into the master bath. And that it definitely is. It's centerpiece is a Japanese soaking tub, a red cedar-ensconced emerald cube built into the cedar-ledged wall, it could fit five up to their necks in deep swirling warmth. Most conveniently, it has already been filled.

 

Will touches the water and finds it pleasantly warm, not overpowering. He carefully unclothes his companion first, then himself more quickly. He stands before the person he loves, naked, eyes earnest and clear. 

 

He is answered in kind. And with a hand in his own, inviting him into the water that climbs to brush his earlobes. The exhausted, tense burnout of the past week, for them both, transforms into pleasant-tired relaxation in the near weightlessness of velveteen currents.

 

Will finally reaches to run fingers through his friend's playful hair, brushing strands from his eyes as he gazes into them. Hannibal stares along the curve of soft pink lips, eager to taste, leans into them fluidly, eyelids closing as lips part. Tentative at first, easing into the kiss. 

 

Lips still locked, the temptation to touch and hold overtakes. Hannibal pulls Will by the shoulders into an embrace, as the father of his child deepens the kiss, palm over palm at the small of his back.

 

Will tilts his head and inhales his partner's tongue, letting it plunge deep within his throat before receding, tip lingering to brush his palate. It almost tickles in a wonderful sort of way. He smiles and splashes and gets splashed in return. They each take a deep breath and dip below the surface, trying out an underwater makeout session. It doesn't last long before oxygen is needed, back into the world, a necessary evil. 

 

It's only a moment before their mouths find each other again, hungrier, more urgent. Will guides his lover's hand along his inner thigh, smoothing over tender skin to gradually enter with a “come hither” motion of his middle finger. He reaches for the outstretched arm and grabs hold of his friend with the other, gliding his thumb along the underside of the tip. Breathing quickens. As they each have the option of slowing or increasing speed independently of one another, their mutual climax is timed perfectly through the kiss.

 

“I could go again.”

 

“I don't know if I can, but I wouldn't mind giving it a try.”

A mischievous smirk flashes across Will's face.

 

He is kneeling behind and between his mate's knees, palms spread like crawling insects over hips, a pair of arms thread back under his own to clasp his hips. Placing kisses to the nape of a neck and down between shoulder blades, dipping underwater for a few, coming up to press a last couple to a shoulder and himself along the length of his companion, nuzzling the left edge of a clavicle, a hardness returning where he is in communion with soft skin, fingers tighten their grip before he begins to be consumed, enveloped within satin flame. 

 

Knowing this heightened circulatory state will only be for a few months longer makes the experience sweeter, bittersweet and savored. Will thinks of it as some kind of super orgasm, short for supercalifragilistikexpialidocious, and manages not to scream this word aloud.

 

Returning to look in shared gaze, kissing, wrapped tight in each other's arms.

 

Hannibal breaks contact abruptly, grabbing for his bathrobe.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“An attack of nausea- it just needs treatment.”

 

“I hope this isn't my fault.”

 

Hannibal contemplates this a moment.

“Consider it a compliment. My axis is temporarily askew.”

 

“Did you just say I rocked your world?”

Will calls after him as he fumbles for a robe and bounds down the stairs in worried pursuit.

 

He finds him in the kitchen, lights dimmed, removing something from a canister kept in plain view. The scent is unmistakable. The most voluptuously sticky, golden-purple-green buds, rolled with precision and care, licked lightly along the edge, lit at the flame of a crème brulee torch.

 

He inhales deeply, holds a moment, then slowly breathes out through his nose, handing the joint to Will and visibly relaxing, relieved, leaning back just a bit against the kitchen counter, absentmindedly rubbing his stomach as if to reassure someone that everything is taken care of.

 

Will looks at what still rests between his fingers, shrugs to himself, and takes a long hit.Then another. Then glances at his lover, enquiring. He gets a nod in the affirmative and fills his lungs yet again, pressing his lips to those belonging to the mother of his child, breathing life into him.

 

Body spent of warm, acrid smoke, he places his hand over Charlotte, looking into his mate's eyes.

 

“Why didn't you tell me there was a problem?”

 

“It's not a problem if it has a solution. And it's improved greatly in the past month.”

 

“How bad was it before?”

 

“If not for a solution, very.”

 

“I want you to tell me these things. I need to know you're alright.”

 

“I would tell you if I wasn't.”

 

“Tell me when you are, too.”

 

They're side by side now, leaning back against the counter, Will's arm around Hannibal's shoulders, when Will begins to cough and the coughing turns to laughter.

 

“Wait... did you see patients... high?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The laughter escalates as Hannibal quietly joins in.

 

“It's never boring with you- you always amaze me.”

 

“Thank you.” Hannibal seems genuinely touched.

 

“If I'm always amazing, wouldn't that predictability become boring? Because I don't know if I can stop.”

 

“Don't stop,” Will chokes through his laughter, “don't ever stop freaking me out.”

“.........Did it just get really hungry in here?”

 

Hannibal hands him the pint of mealworm ice cream and a spoon, then slices a very thick piece of challah bread to skewer on a long two-tined fork and toasts both sides over an open burner flame, spreading a thick layer of fresh whipped butter that quickly melts through the toast.

 

Seeing that Will is still contemplating what he's been given, Hannibal takes the unopened treat from his hands and spoons the ice cream over the sweet bread, placing the improvised snack between them at the bar-height island table and handing his dazed friend a fork and knife.

 

Will slices a triangle corner of challah toast smothered in butter, agave ice cream, and chocolate mealworms. His eyes cross briefly as he raises it to his lips.

 

“Oooh..... that's goood.”

 

He cuts another bite-sized piece and feeds his mate, waiting for a look of satisfaction, and it does not disappoint.

 

“This batch turned out well, you never know with a new flavor, it's custom-order, I dry roasted the worms myself in a cast iron skillet.”

 

“Are the other flavors yours?”

 

“Just this one, but I have three dozen pints of it.”

 

Will just stares at him, then takes a huge bite he struggles to close his mouth around.

 

Hannibal smiles and begins to eat. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Beautiful."

“When are you due?”  
Not exactly the most tactful way to initiate conversation with a stranger, but there was only bright curiosity in her eyes.

“February. Twenty-ninth.”

“Do you know the-”

“Charlotte.”

“Oh I loved that book. Made me cry.”

“What she is named for.”  
“Do you have children of your own?”

“No.”  
Looked down. Didn't elaborate.  
“Well I hope everything goes well and everything...”

“Thank you.”

“You're so adorable, I just had to say 'hi.'”

With a slight smile, he held his head a little higher. And left the fresh fruit to find something else in the organic cooperative.

-

“Can I kiss you at midnight?”

“I may be asleep. Now would be better.”

“I never had anyone...” He trailed off, realizing the sentence was already complete.

They lay nestled in Hannibal's bed, Will in a t-shirt and boxers and his partner in silk pajamas, the top floor trending to the warm side from the “chimney effect.” Hannibal reading a reprint of a medieval anatomy text. Will pressed alongside him, not even pretending to be interested in anything other than the fact that their child seemed to be most active when they had the least energy to spare. He hoped the trend didn't continue after she was born. 

Sometimes accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. 

“Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes.”

“Isn't it annoying?”

“Sometimes.”

“What does it feel like...”  
He trailed off again.

“Despite everything-”  
Unbuttoning his pajama top from the bottom. Revealing blue, green, and yellow tendrils of ivy winding along either side of their soon-to-be daughter.

“Beautiful.”  
Will completed the thought.  
“When were you going to show me?”

“When you didn't find it yourself.”

A tiny burgundy henna spider hid amongst the leaves.

“We need to save this.”  
Looking for his phone, then Hannibal's when he realizes it would have better resolution. Snapping a photo from both angles. His mate smiling the same smile from earlier in the day, only ten times brighter, as he closed his shirt.

“Okay, now I need this.”  
Capturing the smile. First with the camera. Then with his lips. Another shutter sound. A flash across the kiss. 

Holding up the phone, beaming.  
“I have proof!”

“Proof?”

“You're not just a dream.”  
Leaning in for another kiss.  
“Tell me what you want. Anything.”

“Starfruit. Sliced thin on the diagonal. Dark chocolate. You.”

Laughter bubbling through a grin.  
“I'll be right back.”

Hannibal places his book on the bedside table, making a mental note of the page number.

His mate returns with a dessert plate and two glasses of ice water, and wraps an arm around his shoulders as he lifts a square of chocolate to his companion's lips. Then the fruit. More chocolate.

“Fruit again.”  
Will is corrected.

“Oh, it's sweetness you want?”  
Will lifts his head to Hannibal's opposite ear, pressing his lips just behind it. Kisses floating down to crest atop the sternum.  
“I don't know about this year. I just know one day will be the best day of my life.”

Hannibal feels the tip of his lover's nose brush along his clavicle where it becomes his shoulder, where a kiss becomes a smile.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can't stop looking into these eyes.

One month before their daughter was due to arrive, Will had taken paternity leave and taken up temporary residence at Hannibal's home. 

 

That was six weeks ago.

 

He had long since finished _The Elegant Universe_. He had finished many books.

 

“She has exceptional opportunity for development.”

 

“What if she develops to the point where she can't leave the house?”

 

But his mate had nodded off again, spending basically every waking hour asleep, restlessly, between about a dozen pillows.

 

At least he wasn't nauseous. Quite the opposite- even Will's cooking was more than tolerated.

 

“We've been very patient, Charlotte Mischa.”

Will scolds into empty space.

 

“I think it's time we met.”

He unceremoniously turns out the bedside light and falls asleep.

 

_Baltimore. Four-thirteen am._

 

“Will.”

 

….”Huh?”

 

“It's time.”

 

….”Funny.”

 

“Will.”

 

….....

 

“Will.”

 

“What?”

 

“She's coming now.”

 

“What?”

 

“Now.”

 

“Now?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Thank god for adrenaline.

 

Will is very much awake, out of bed, carefully helping his partner descend the stairs.

 

They do not have far to travel. The first floor guest bedroom has been ready for a month. Everything covered and sterile, you could kill someone in there and have all traces gone in three minutes. While the situation may be quite the opposite, the principle was the same.

 

 

“No complications are expected. A home birth would be appropriate.”

 

“Really?”

 

It had been an interesting conversation.

 

“Should a problem arise, I can instruct you in stabilization until EMS arrives.”

 

“Really...”

 

Will didn't need to be certified 'more or less sane' to know this was just a little bonkers.

 

“So under 'attending physician' on the birth certificate, you'll just write your own name?”

 

“I'll write 'see mother.' No point in being redundant.”

 

“Wow.”

 “But if you think I'm saving-”

 

“You can and you will.”

“Ice would be good. And the television remote. Feel free to continue sleeping.”

 

“I'm not going back to sleep. I'm not going anywhere.”

 

The only tv in the house is tuned to the weather channel, the volume low, a persistent and comforting reminder that the world outside continues on as normal- just another day.

 

After procuring crushed ice, Will settles into a chair at Hannibal's bedside and clasps his hand. And falls asleep.

 

He dreams of his fingers being caught in the propeller blades of an outboard boat motor, and then not, and again, and then not, and again, closer and closer together, reprieves nearly used up...

 

“Will.”

 

“Yeah...”

He checks his watch.

“Five hours?”

 

“Your presence was not required.”

 

“Good to know.”

 

“You are needed now.”

 

“Do you want something for the pain?”

 

“No.”

 

“It's not too bad?”

 

“It's excruciating, but it's not bothering me at the moment. I will let you know if it does.”

“For now, I think the time has come to push.”

 

 

Procedure had been reviewed time and again, Will had insisted on the 'again.' And again.

 

Make certain her breathing starts. 

 

Make certain his bleeding stops.

 

Check her vitals.

 

Check his vitals.

 

Will is about to check his own vitals when he realizes he's lost focus and hands her to him.

 

A stethoscope tells him her lungs are clear and deep and her heart is strong and regular.

 

His hair is completely soaked and his eyes are already closing.

 

“Two tablets of oxycodone.”

 

Will takes Charlotte and hands him the pills and a glass of tepid water.

 

 

She is bathed and wrapped and bottle-fed. Fluffy sandy hair peeking from underneath a pink cotton blanket.

 

Her other guardian has been asleep since before he swallowed the pills.

 

Will is gazing at her when her eyelids first open. Her irises are violet with a golden amber ring around the pupils. She returns his gaze and Will knows she knows exactly who he is. 

 

A droplet falls to her cheek and Will realizes he can't remember the last time he cried.

 

He can't stop looking into these eyes. He never intends to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [An epilogue in pictures on tumblr.](http://coniferousawakenings.tumblr.com/post/64201825743/the-woods-are-lovely-dark-and-deep-but-i-have)
> 
>  
> 
> This brings me joy and happiness.


End file.
